


The Disciple

by HistoryFreak_91



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age - Various Authors, Dragon Age II
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Anders' Clinic, Andrastianism, Dramatic, F/M, Family Feels, Fictional Religion & Theology, Healer Anders (Dragon Age), Kirkwall (Dragon Age), M/M, Mages (Dragon Age), Mages vs. Templars, Oaths & Vows, Rivalry, Sebastian Vael in the Chantry, Sibling Love, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-01-23 12:00:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12506928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HistoryFreak_91/pseuds/HistoryFreak_91
Summary: Upon his arrival to Kirkwall, Anders receives the help of a street orphan, Auburn, who quickly grows attached to the man, forging a solid familial bond.Pouring his ideas and ideologies onto the younger girl, Anders functions as an older brother in the relationship, making Auburn completely dependable of his opinions and thoughts.It is when she accidentally meets Sebastian Vael that Auburn starts to question the views and extremisms of her beloved mentor and starts to forge her own opinion, blending the two antipodal positions of the men she loves in her persona, making her take her own decisions and discover her true desires.





	1. An Apostate on the Run

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cheddarbug](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheddarbug/gifts).



> This piece is my first attempt to a medium-long fanfiction, after getting confidence for finishing my first short multi-chapter fiction and after writing only one-shots since… forever. 
> 
> The idea for this story came after the numerous talks I had with fellow Dragon Age fans on both Anders and Sebastian. Confrontation has always been a fuel for my imagination, and speaking with people that I was in disagreement with and pondering over their points, discussing them with friends who were more in line with my way of thinking, I decided to write this story about two kinds of unconditioned love: familial love and romantic love. 
> 
> It is a story dedicated to all who appreciate the flaws and multifaceted essences of both Sebastian and Anders and, in particular, to my friend and beta cheddarbug who has to put up with my anxiety and, most importantly, with my mistakes. I hope I will write a piece worth of her time and that will make our beloved characters shine in all of their dramatic essence.

The massif blocks of ivory stones stood tall in front of the mage’s eyes as he laid foot on the chalky docks. His travels had been perilous and at all cozy but he had finally reached his destination: the squared walls of Kirkwall welcomed him to his new life, far from the Grey Wardens, far from the Templars chasing after him, far from all those haunting memories of Darkspawn, Broodmothers and sentient monstrosities. To the Void, all of them, all that life: the Free Marches would’ve been his new home now, far from all of Ferelden’s headaches, a place where to start over and where to prove himself and his own resolve through heroic deeds and words of hope.

Anders stood still for a few moments more, contemplating his past, his choices and his future reflected in that stone as did the sun that shone bright, so much warmer than it was on the other side of the Waking Sea, showering him in a cozy embrace. He took a deep breath and proceeded cautiously, looking around as he approached the gates: a few beggars were stranded at the sides of the street; some sat alone, others were surrounded by their brethren and some more by their families. Anders’ expression darkened at that sight: why were so many still high and dry? Those were certainly Fereldan refugees, late arrivals, the whole bunch of them, Anders hoped. Why hadn’t they been accommodated into the city and properly taken care of? The mage felt his hands itch but he contained himself: he had abandoned his staff, too visible on his persona to not arouse suspicion by eventual guards or, worse, Templars. He was unarmed; not that he needed a weapon to fight, especially with Justice granting him his special abilities, but he preferred the spirit not to take control over his body so easily for he had seen what the blindness of his anger could cause and he wanted to refrain from repeating such atrocity.

He eventually reached his destination and faced the guard standing in front while two more were placed to the sides, a bit behind.

“The gates are closed to all new entries, stranger.” The first man intimated, pumping his chest. “Step aside.”

“There must be a mistake.” Anders replied, trying to be charming but unable to find the strength to smile appropriately. “I was invited here.” The guard cackled.

“Now, were you?” He raised a brow, amused by the attempt, while Anders tried to keep his cool. “By whom?”

“A friend.” The mage replied smugly but only received a chuckle in return.

“Don’t you all moldy dogs have friends in town?” The guard invited the other to look around, his eyes glistening over the poor abandoned souls. “If I had a copper for every time I heard this…” He scorned before going back to position and nodding with his head. “Bug off or I will personally see you taken care of.” Anders tutted but did as he was commanded: he couldn’t cause a scene, not upon his arrival, not next to so many innocents. He retreated, setting his mind to find a way to get in, one way or another.

A few days went by: some of the refugees left, directed to the nearest village, in hope to find some food, while a handful died of starvation. By the end of the third day, only a couple of solitary beggars remained and the few food supplies that the mage had on himself had either gone inedible or so stale that they were near impossible to chew without breaking a tooth.

Despite it all, he didn’t give up: he searched every corner of the walls to find an entrance, studied the guards’ shift pattern, trying to talk each of them to let him in but to no avail. But he couldn’t surrender; there was no way that he would leave Kirkwall now that he had found a place where someone was waiting for him, unbeknownst of his arrival or otherwise. He had traced him, his dear friend, his Karl, the only foothold he had left in this world, and he wouldn’t have given up on him so easily.

It was with these thoughts that he was sitting against the wall that night, making a small fire into his cupped hands to warm up his face, freezing at the humid air rising from the agitated sea. It hadn’t rained, not until then, and Anders sure hoped it wouldn’t start now or those two companions that he had left wouldn’t have survived the eventual fevers, weakened as they were. He sighed, blowing into the small fire that danced gleefully in his palms, a small beam of hope and passion caressing his cheeks pleasantly. That tiny flame seemed to give him comfort enough and he had made sure that the walls gave him sufficient intimacy, for after he had leisurely closed his eyes to sleep, he felt his blood going cold at the scream he heard out of the blue, fending through the starless night.

“Apostate!” The voice of one of the guards that he knew so well shouted and his haziness promptly disappeared, replaced by a state of alert that made him jump immediately up on his feet, his hands parted and stretched to the sides, fingers releasing purple sparks. The mage looked around, landing his glance toward the gate that was left unattended for the first time. At that sight, the man relaxed his muscles and ceased to produce lightning as he watched the two beggars rush into the city, running like madmen.

Overwhelmed at first, Anders took a few moments to process what had just happened before feeling Justice exert him to seize that opportunity and run inside the gate himself; but the closer he got, the more he could hear the clash of swords and the sound of thunder scorching the ground. Even before turning the corner, he knew what he would’ve had to face and bitterly frowned at the proof of his right assumption: the rogue mage had slain the two hapless beggars to fuel his own power and was succumbing to the demon he had hosted, turning into an abomination. Two city-guards were facing him.

Anders quickly scouted his surroundings, contemplating his next move, when he saw the staff of the blood mage abandoned not too far away: if he could’ve grabbed it, he would’ve had a better chance to face the demonic creature without resorting to extreme measures. He waited for the abomination to be pushed aside by a mighty blow of one of the guards and took a running start before sliding to the ground, his hand stretched toward the staff that was suddenly knocked away by the lifeless body of the female guard, thrown onto the ground by the inhumane strength of the abomination. Anders cursed under his breath, not wasting even a second to look behind his back, crawling over and above the body of the woman, his hand landing on the pool of blood that her dismembered arm was pouring onto the immaculate stone. He stretched his clean hand, feeling his body sliding to the ground, when the monstrous shadow of the abomination impeded over him. Without a warning, his body started glowing blue and he turned his blinded eyes to face the foul creature that was bending over him, grabbing its slender arm and twisting it, hearing it crack under an excruciating screech.

“You won’t take us!” The thundering voice of Justice roared as he passed his blood-dirty hand through the creature’s body, sundering it and allowing it to fall lifelessly to the ground, revealing the dead body of the second guard impaled on its own sword.

Anders stood there, surrounded by four gruesomely butchered men, his body still glowing blue under his heavy breath. He had hardly the time to realize what he had just done when he heard more voices and steps approaching: the third guard had called for reinforcements and they were of the Templar type, Justice could feel the lyrium inside their veins.

“Hey, you!” A sudden voice chirped, making Anders abandon the fighting position and turn toward it, his glow softening to allow him to check his surroundings but to no avail. “You’re Fereldan, right?” The voice continued and the mage got rid of what was left of the spirit’s power to focus and finally realize that it was coming from a grate on the wall. With a clanking sound, the grate was removed, making a pale face appear from the darkness. “If you stand there, they will kick you out as soon as they get here, or they’ll do even worse.” The young girl spoke again and stretched out a hand, inviting the man to follow her. “Come on in!” Anders was shocked and confused by the unexpected appearance of this saving grace, wondering what she might have seen of what had just happened. “Move it! They are coming!” At the sight of the girl’s wide eyes, Anders hastily did as he was told and crawled inside the hole in the wall, hardly big enough to allow him to fit. The girl helped him get inside, clenching her thin fingers into his robe and pulling him in, managing to make do of the little space they had. As soon as she saw him standing behind her, she hurriedly put the grate back to its place, her eyes pierced to the guard and the four Templars storming the square, noticing the scattered bodies and searching for the ultimate being that had put that atrocious fight to an end. They barked others at each other, the city-guard panicking at the gory sight of his associates and abruptly reprimanded by one of the Templars that cut short his mourning, sending him to report to his captain, leaving room for the _experts_ to check the area.

Relieved that they hadn’t been spotted, the girl behind the grate sighed, placing her whole soles to the ground, returning from her tip-toed position, before turning around and confronting the man right behind her, his face barely illuminated by a torch outside.

“That was close.” The girl smirked. “You Fereldans always get yourselves into trouble."


	2. Talent Discovery

In the purest darkness, Anders fumbled against the cold wall, his feet walking a wet and slippery surface that sent grossed out shivers through his spine. He had had no other choice but to follow the one, that he supposed to be a pretty young woman, when she had signed him to do as much, suggesting to leave before the Templars could find them hiding there. They hadn’t walked for long but Anders already stopped perceiving the lyrium in the air, his senses filled with a much less pleasant semblance: the smell of sewers. He didn’t know if it was the renewed awareness he gathered from the foul odor or the fact that he felt more secure now that he couldn’t reckon the presence of the Templars, but the mage started to grow more interested of his surroundings and of his unexpected guide that seemed to move with ease in the murkiness and clamminess.

“Do you do this often?” Anders suddenly broke the silence and the girl in front of him stopped for a second, startled by the unexpected voice that echoed through the narrow walls. The man managed not to bump over her before hearing a suffocated sneer.

“More often than I would like to admit.” Her reply tried to sound playful but Anders could easily pick up the embarrassment in her voice as he heard her steps tooting against the ground once more, leading the way. “We are almost out of the dark, don’t worry.” She assured him, grasping his uneasiness, as she led him toward a short corridor to the right, at the end of which a dim light showed a glimpse of hope for a breath of fresh air.

The closer they got to the exit, the more the light cleared their path, revealing the strawberry blond wavy hair of the slender girl that was leading the way, her locks falling at neck’s length, her pale skin covered in a dirty blouse above which fell diagonally the strip of leather that held a carefully sewed brown satchel that danced against the girl’s hip, covered in a brown ragged skirt that barely reached her ankles, left uncovered by the poor leather sandals that she wore at her feet. Just by looking at her back, the man couldn’t fathom how old the girl could be; it was only when they finally reached the exit and she turned to smile at him that he realized that she had to be no more than sixteen years old, if even that.

“At least now you can see where you are going.” She chirped, her small lips showing a line of white teeth and her cheeks puffing up to the sides of her slim nose. “Follow me.” She nudged with her head, her curls dancing, brushing against her jaw. Anders had no intention of opposing but, now that he had given a face to that mysterious girl, he felt enough at ease to ask some questions.

“You demand a lot of trust from me and I don’t even know your name.” Anders joked but the girl flushed, unable to sense the playfulness in the man’s voice.

“Oh, I am sorry.” She cleared her throat and turned around, keeping on walking. “I am Auburn.”

“That’s an odd name.” The man replied, enjoying how stiff the girl became at his teasing. She turned to face him, blinking once, her black lashes flashing her russet eyes, this time wondering just how serious the man was.

“And what is _your_ name?” She retorted and the man rolled his eyes with a sneer, realizing that he might have been a bit too fast joking on a name when the one he carried could be just as easily used for a punchline.

“Anders.” He admitted in defeat.

“And you say _my_ name is odd?” Auburn chuckled timidly, wondering if it was inappropriate of her to joke with a man she had just known, but she heard the other snigger and relaxed at the delighted sound. She adjusted the satchel on her shoulder, tilting her head to the side as she pondered. “I thought you said you were Fereldan?” Anders wavered at the question, contemplating on how to answer it. In the end, he chose to be honest.

“My father was from the Anderfells.” He replied, feeling off-color after speaking of something so intimate to a person he had just met. Auburn didn’t seem to wither, on the other hand.

“I never met my father.” She opened up instead, a bitter smile on her face that peeped from her shoulder. “My mother gave me my name.” The girl went back to look in front, her locks dancing under her steps. “She died when I was six.”

“How old are you?” The question popped out of Anders’ mouth without him even noticing, his wondering eyes scanning the girl’s reaction to it.

“Fourteen.” Auburn replied at last, shrugging. Anders couldn’t withhold a frown of concern.

“How did you survive all these years?” He inquired, unable to hide his interest toward the one he had thought an elf at first, seeing her slim waist, only to realize that it must’ve been due to malnutrition rather than constitution when he checked that she didn’t have elven ears and concluded that she wasn’t quite tall enough to be one of them, also being considered of her young age.

“Lirene helped us.” Auburn’s voice sounded dreamy when she spoke the name, a smile stretching on her tiny lips. “She helps everyone.” The girl continued with a nod, before turning around as the two stepped out of the underground passage. “She will help you, too.”

“Who’s Lirene?” Anders asked, blessing the Maker for the breath of fresh air that brushed against his face, removing the foul odor of the galleries from inside his nose.

“She is the one who takes care of us orphans.” Auburn explained gleefully, indicating the road to follow to the man. “She helps the refugees too.” The streets of Lowtown were empty at that hour, a faint indistinct chattering coming only from the local tavern, the typical idle talk one could expect from a bunch of drunkards by the end of the night. “She can be a bit… abrupt, at times.” Auburn giggled timidly, scratching her wrist nervously. “But I am sure she won’t turn her back on you.”

Auburn trotted up a set of stairs, followed by a hesitant Anders who crossed with her unsure smile before being invited in: the room was crammed with tables, chairs and boxes of all sizes. The light was of a suffocating orange that made the room feel smaller than it actually was, almost oppressing. Adjacent to the first room, an opening led to a second area that looked more capacious and less stuffy. Anders didn’t have much time to take a better look inside for a black-haired woman stomped toward him with an exasperated glare.

“Who are you, now?” She growled before noticing Auburn who came out from behind the mage, biting her lower lip to hide a nervous smirk. “Who is this, Auburn?”

“This is Messere Anders, Lirene.” The girl introduced him and Anders furrowed his eyebrows: Messere? A title? It sounded nice, he could’ve gotten used to it. “He’s a Fereldan refugee and…”

“Another one?” Lirene scoffed. “Didn’t we have enough in the last months? Blighted… Blight.”

“The Blight is over.” Anders pointed out with a smug. “And I helped that happen.” It wasn’t entirely true, he knew that; but what bad could it do to sweeten the deal with an innocent lie? Lirene looked at him from head to toe while Auburn’s eyes seemed to burst in awe.

“You’re a Grey Warden?” The black-haired woman asked, crossing her arms: he really didn’t look the type.

“ _Was_ a Grey Warden.” The other specified, gesturing with his hand. “I am done with that life. I just want to start over.”

“And you had to choose Kirkwall of all places?” Lirene rolled her eyes, turning her back to him and kneeling to face Auburn, holding out an opened palm. “We don’t have time for this now, we wasted enough of it with him already. Did you take them?”

“Yes, of course.” The younger girl nodded, ridding herself of her satchel and handing it over to the expectant woman who hastily opened the stitches with a knife, revealing an assortment of tonics that clank against one another.

“Blessed Andraste.” Lirene sighed before turning away and moving toward the adjacent room, leaving Anders standing there with Auburn.

“Where did you get those?” The man asked and the younger girl’s cheeks turned into a burning red.

“I…” She didn’t have the courage to look at the man directly: could Grey Wardens read through lies? After what she had seen of the man, she was bound to believe that the answer had to be yes. “I stole them…” She confessed, feeling slightly better with herself. “But it was for a good cause!” She didn’t have time to explain more for a scream roared across the room, making the two jolt in surprise before rushing to check what had caused such a horrific sound: Lirene and an elder woman were trying to keep a man still on his bed, using the potions and poultices to heal a deeply infected wound scorching across his abdomen, which had caused a paralyzing fever that rendered the poor soul unstable.

“It’s not enough!” The elder woman cried over the screams of the man, trying to keep him straight. In the heat of the moment, Lirene popped open a tonic with her teeth and poured the liquid over the wound with no caution, making the man start having seizures. She tried to comply, keeping his shoulders down while the other woman embraced his legs, making so that he couldn’t kick himself out of the bed nor knock away those who were trying to help.

Looking at this painful event, Anders couldn’t help himself: he needed to do something or the man would’ve been lost.

“Fetch some towels!” He ordered Auburn who, after an instant of confusion, hurried to do what she was told while the mage reached for the patient, rolling up his sleeves.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Lirene growled but the mage ignored her.

“Trying to save a life.” He whispered, checking what he had to work with, before turning to the teenage girl who had found something clean at last. “Auburn, wet the clothes in warm water!”

“Yes, Messere!” The other replied obediently, running toward the fire after taking a small pot that was already filled with water. She kept it over the fire for a while, waiting for it to be warm but not excruciatingly hot, while the mage checked the fever of the man placing his hand over the other’s forehead and gently using some magic to cool it down, making the man’s convulsions less vigorous. Noticing as much, Lirene turned to look at the mage, starting to understand what was going on.

“Auburn, water?” Anders called, ready to move forward.

“Incoming!” The girl replied, damping the clothes she had found in the now tepid water and bringing it to the mage who thanked her with a nod of his head before using the towel to clean up the wound under the cries of the suffering man.

“Take something for him to bite on.” Anders indicated to Auburn who quickly found a piece of unused rope and put it in the patient’s mouth. “Well done.” The mage praised her as she used another cloth to wipe out the patient’s sweat, trying to ease his suffering and keep his head still while Anders abandoned the blood-dirty towel to the ground and focused on using his healing magic to eliminate the infection that was paining the man so. Flashes of white light ran from his fingers and shone bright on the man’s abdomen, the flesh of whom lost its unhealthy color to turn into a bright red. Anders went back to take the third soaked towel and clean up the wound again, before using his magic once more to seal it up, an apparently utterly painful procedure since the patient’s seizures started again, his screams only suffocated by the rope between his teeth. By the time the surgery was over, the man had lost all his energies and abandoned his head to the side, relaxing his muscles in the women’s arms.

Auburn looked down at the motionless man before raising her eyes toward Anders, but she couldn’t say a word for Lirene intervened.

“You’re a mage.” She spoke before anybody else could say the same thing. Anders sighed and kneeled to the pot of water to wash his hands.

“Yes, I am a mage.” He admitted, cursing himself for not being able to mind his own business: so much to stay undercover.

“Is he going to be okay?” Auburn interrupted and the man laid his eyes on her: she didn’t seem frightened or confused like the other women that were staring at him with an indecisive glance. Anders nodded.

“He’ll be fine, if he’s taken care of.” He flashed a warning scowl at the older women. “Tonics cannot heal a wound so deep and so deeply infected.”

“You saved his life.” The eldest spoke at last, her voice shaky but grateful. Anders crossed his eyes with her who nodded with her head before turning it toward the black-haired woman. “Lirene, we won’t talk about this to the Templars.”

“Mum…” The other was unsure but the elder didn’t allow her to discuss.

“He can help us!” She protested, her eyes lingering from her daughter to the man that the mage had just saved. “He can help so many with his gift.”

“If the Templars find him here…” The other muttered but once more the gray-haired stopped her.

“He won’t have to stay here.” She suggested and went to take something from under a mattress. She came back with a key and put it into the mage’s hand. “Take this.” Anders looked at the key only for a second before moving his eyes to the serious ones of the other in front of him. “It opens the doors to a hideout in Darktown. You will be safe there.”

“Mother, are you sure?” Lirene looked surrendered to the resolve of her mother and lowered her head when the latter glanced over her with her severe gaze.

“Child.” The elderly woman called for Auburn who hurriedly reached her side, bowing lightly to await orders. “Take this man to the hideout. You know the way.” Her eyes moved from the girl to the man once more, the latter nodding with his head, thankful to the elder for her offer.

“Let’s go.” He said calmly to Auburn who waltzed outside the room, followed by Anders who laid his eyes on Lirene one more time, as to be sure that she wouldn’t play weird tricks on him; the woman lowered her head but reciprocated his glance, giving him a tacit consent.

Outside the shop, the timid rays of the sun were starting to tint the white walls of a peachy color and the pungent morning air filled Anders’ lungs.

“This way.” He heard Auburn’s voice call and started following her inside a brand new hallway.

The girl was peculiarly quiet but the man had to admit that he didn’t have the strength to talk himself: what had happened that night, both the things that had happened, had utterly compromised his intents of living a quiet life, at least until Karl was saved, and now he had to comply with the locals’ requests to make sure to even have a chance to get to see his friend again. The sole idea irritated him greatly but he had to admit that the cause was just and the reward for it, a safe place to stay, was more than enough of a compensation. Yet, he didn’t see the end of the long walk that had brought them to a new part of town, even lower than Lowtown and even darker: the light barely filtered between the fissures in the walls and the air felt heavy, oppressed by the foul smells of rotten food and unclean garments. Anders started to rethink about the generosity of his reward when the familiar voice chirped again, gleeful as always.

“We arrived.” Auburn held out her hand open, asking for the key. Anders quickly reached for his satchel and gave it to her, who swiftly opened the rusty lock to reveal the spacious room: crates, planks and items of several sizes and shapes were crammed all over the place, covered by a thick veil of dust. There was a table against the further wall and a few chairs. No bed whatsoever.

“Andraste’s ass…” The man cursed, running a hand through his hair. “There is… so much work to do.”

“Mh, yeah.” Auburn nodded awkwardly. “We used this as a storage room.” She cleared her throat. “More like… junk room.”

“Trust me, I can see that.” Anders sighed, moving forward to check around to see if he could find anything of use. Auburn followed his movements while he was getting accustomed to the new place, wondering what she should have done next. She had something impelling to say but she didn’t know if it was the right moment to do so.

“Messere Anders?” She called to him, mustering some courage, and he turned to face her, a green rug clutched between his fingers. “I wanted to say…” The girl scratched the back of her head: it was so hard to speak without being invited to! “What you did at the shop and… what you did before, to that… thing.” So she had seen it all! Anders froze where he stood: she had seen him; she had seen Justice sundering that abomination with his bare hands. What of it now? Would have she betrayed his secret, spilled the beans to those two women who had been so inclined to give him a chance, despite him being an apostate? One thing was accepting a mage, another accepting an abomination. No, they wouldn’t have complied to that, not Lirene, that’s for sure. Then what to do of this girl?

“It was incredible!” Auburn’s praise came out so sudden that the mage was almost startled. He blinked a couple times, noticing the girl’s eyes shining of the most heartfelt reverence as she spoke: “I had never seen anything like it! When I got there, I thought you were done for: the thing was right above you and ready to sweep you away but no, you turned blue, like a beam in the night, and took that thing out! It was… breathtaking!” For one, Anders could see that the girl was not as weak of heart as he had thought her to be, seeing how she seemed unfazed by the massacre she had attended to not many hours prior. “How do you do it?” At that question, the mage was unsure on how to answer: he could’ve simply lied, make something up and be done with it; no risk she’d spill the beans to the older women, no Templars storming the place, no more headaches and fear of betrayal. Yet there was something that told him that covering up the truth would’ve caused more trouble than good: Anders desperately needed support and he needed it by someone who was able to accept him for what he was; sure, the word _abomination_ wouldn’t have been his first choice but he needed to admit his true self, his true essence, if he wanted a friend.

“I could tell you.” He decided to say after thinking for so long. “But it’d be a secret.” Auburn raised her eyebrows, feeling her heart beat faster.

“A secret?” She repeated before filling her chest with air. “Nobody ever told me their secrets before!” She clapped her hands and Anders just understood how lonely the girl must’ve been all her life: no wonder he felt they were such kindred spirits. “I’ll keep the secret, I promise!” Anders’ lips crisped into a bittersweet smile as he abandoned the rug he had in his hands and came closer to the younger girl, placing a hand over her head.

“But first, I want to compliment myself with you.” He conceded and looked at the bright eyes of the girl widen as she raised her head to meet his face.

“Uh?” She mumbled. “Me?”

“You have been extremely proficient when I asked for your help with that man.” Anders smiled proudly, a feeling he didn’t expect to experience for someone other than himself. “Not to talk about the fact that you saved me from those Templars.

“Oh.” Auburn just couldn’t understand the extent of all those compliments. “I did what Lirene does: help the refugees.” She shrugged and Anders smirked: he had seen Lirene now and he knew that her character was certainly very different from the one of the girl in front of him. Sure, she might have set an example but Auburn had been able to go over the crankiness of her role model and make of her ideals a marvelous virtue for herself. “And for the patient: I was just following your orders, Messere.”

“Don’t call me Messere.” Anders shrugged it off: he had changed his mind; he would’ve never gotten used to it ever. “I’ll be just Anders from now on.”

“Alright.” Auburn nodded, obedient as always.

“And what you did there is not something everyone has in them.” He kneeled to face her better for she kept her eyes low in humbleness. “Auburn.” Anders called to her and she was forced to lock her eyes with his, her cheeks turning pink at the smile she was receiving. “You should be proud of yourself.”

“Yes, Mes… I mean, Anders.” She giggled timidly, scratching her wrist nervously. Anders winked at her, receiving one more chuckle from the girl, before turning around and suddenly having an idea while his eyes wandered above the mess.

“Say…” He took a hand to his chin and turned to look at Auburn once more. “I might be in need of an assistant to take care of this mess and to gather the patients when the time comes, not to talk about a helping hand when they’ll need healing.” The smile on his face grew wider the more he saw the girl’s jaw drop in stupor. “Would _you_ like to be my assistant?” Auburn stood there, speechless, for quite some time before taking a deep breath and squeeze her eyes, trying to contain her enthusiasm.

“Yes!”


	3. Apprenticeship

Anders and Auburn’s collaboration revealed fruitful from the very start: she was a fast learner, a swift aide and a proficient courier. She also functioned as a messenger, delivering suitable patients to the clinic once she made sure that they wouldn’t run to the Templars after receiving the apostate’s cares. She had become more aware of the Templar problem herself since she started to associate with the healer: she hid from them, as if she had magical powers of herself, avoiding the places where they patrolled more frequently, running away as soon as she had the chance. She didn’t trust the city-guards either, too often getting way too close to the hideout while Anders was performing one of his spells, almost catching him red-handed. Auburn had learned how to distract them, how to lead them away when it was necessary, either by sending children after them for a couple silvers, pestering them enough to push the guards to chase after them, before they could run somewhere safe, or by starting random fights between beggars or drunkards, usually resulting in meaningless brawls ceased by the annoyed protectors of the law. The girl always made sure to never be seen so that she could keep walking safely through the streets, gathering poultices, tonics and herbs that she herself turned into powerful medicaments, an ability taught to her by the apostate that spent quite some time mentoring her over everything a non-mage could learn about healing, from general personal care to sewing tissues back together with heated needles.

Auburn had a strong mind and a strong stomach: not once had she withdrawn from a patient, no matter how revolting their infection was or how far gone their case seemed to be. She had always stayed by Anders’ side, believing in his mental and magical abilities.

They had had their losses, of course. Auburn had learnt that it was inevitable sometimes and that mercy could be the only medicine in extreme cases.

It was hard, seeing people stop breathing, stop moving, stop screaming even; but it was part of the job. That was what Anders told her when they lost their first patient. He tried to be strong for both of them, that one time. He sat next to the girl and talked her through it, reminding her of how death was unfair and that soon that mourning should’ve left space to new zeal so that the both of them could dedicate their own existences to chase it away, saving as many lives as they could.

Auburn felt a great void after hearing that speech, an anger toward the injustice that she had to witness bestowed upon such a small child, but that same anger fueled her spirit, giving her the strength to recover and go back to working at the mage’s side, even more dedicated than before. Their relationship had grown stronger since that day, that experience of loss creating a common memory useful to remind them of their limits, to make them push harder in their battle against the ineluctable end of every breathing being.

But that wasn’t the only battle the two had decided to face together: since the day Anders had spoken of Justice and of the reason why they had joined, Auburn was fascinated by their cause. Anders spared no details in his telling: knowing the brave nature of the girl, he narrated about the night when he and the spirit sealed their fatidic deal; of the Warden,  _ Rolan _ \- he spoke the name with such disdain, and of the Templars he had taken with him and of how they killed them, all of them, with their bare hands, just like the girl saw them do with the abomination that same night.

Listening to his story, Auburn sensed all of the frustration for the mischievousness of Rolan’s betrayal through Anders’ words, making her feel deeply for the man and his plague. She understood how he was left no other choice than to cling to the only friend he had left, the only one that had shown him a glimpse of hope for himself and for all those mages, inside and out of the Circles, that were considered less than beasts by their brethren, chased and chained for no rightful reason. Anders spoke of Justice quite fondly but in a distant manner: they were one now but they had been distinct people before. He had no love for the spirit itself, he spoke of him as of a quite disturbing sight in Kristoff’s body, not to talk of his eeriness in both thought and choice of words, but the connection the two created through their joining made them grow undeniably sympathetic toward one another.

It was hard, trying to answer Auburn’s questions on how it felt: it was oddly natural, if Anders could say so himself. Not the idea of it, that was odd for sure, but, in the daily life, the man could feel that nothing much had changed. He felt like himself most of the time, perhaps more aware of his surroundings and less vulnerable, less flustered at the sight of danger and more eager to do something about his and others’ rights. He had to admit he had never felt quite as good, least one would consider the horrible nightmares he had to withstand due to the Taint, but that was of little importance for a long time, until Auburn started to live with him. It happened with an outlandish spontaneity; the girl just started sleeping at the clinic in the interest of attending some patients that might have been in need of immediate attention during their therapy and simply remained there for days, until it became so natural that she didn’t leave, not even in the most leisure days, when the two spent time cleaning up the mess around them and talk amicably. Only then Auburn had seen the secret pain of the Grey Wardens: she was awoken by the suffocated screams of the mage and hurriedly went to check on him who rolled in his sheets with a pained expression tarnishing his features.

“Anders!” She called worrisome, waking him up with a shake. The man sat up on his bed with a jolt, the blond hair brushing against his face as he breathed in deeply to get some air into his lungs. “Anders, are you sick!?” Auburn was ready to stand up and go fetch everything she needed to soothe the man’s vexation but he grabbed her wrist before she could move away.

“I am fine…” He mumbled, his shoulders finally moving at a normal pace. Auburn looked at him in discomfort but abided. She sat down on her knees again and asked for explanations, receiving a brief summary of what the Grey Wardens had to go through but not of why. Anders couldn’t tell her, he was sworn to keep the ritual a secret, but it was harder than he imagined to dismiss Auburn’s insistence, especially with her solicitation in asking if she could do something to make it go away, to heal that condition. The man looked at her, who was almost bursting into tears, and bitterly smiled, feeling his heart wrench at the sight of the young girl taking such heartfelt concern for his situation. With the most tender of intentions, he bended over her and pulled her to his chest, trying to sooth her sobs. He never thought he could grow so attached to that little thing; she felt so small into his arms, so harmless and vulnerable. He rested his head on hers and caressed her blond locks, promising that he would’ve been fine and that she had nothing to worry about. It took some convincing, but Auburn complied in the end, although she kept checking regularly on the man every night since then for a long time, trying to find a way to make the nightmares stop when they occurred, either by waking up the healer or by slightly moving him, leaving him in a state of semi-vigilance for a couple seconds so that his dreaming session could start over.

As a way to show his gratefulness to the young assistant, Anders provided for her in any other way possible: despite having so few coin, he always managed to have enough for a meal for the both of them, shared humbly during their quiet hours, sitting next to a fire or on a carpet, the solitary table present in the clinic used for paperwork and the planks, sometimes placed on crates of the same height, to host the patients in need.

The clinic was always crammed with useless junk but it got better with time. Anders and Auburn worked themselves to the bone to make it as organized and clean as possible, down there in the hidden depths of Darktown of all places, with the light peeping through the walls, fending the thin dust that danced carelessly and went to rest on the furniture, driving Anders crazy as he tried to keep everything sterilized.

So went the days at the clinic for a long time, rarely interrupted in their routine by Anders’ travels to the Gallows in search for his friend, unable to get to him without someone else’s help; and someone else’s help came by the name of Garrett Hawke.

Hawke entered the clinic one day, moving with a fast and fiery pace, his vivacious eyes dancing all around the room, checking the place where this Grey Warden mage he was told about did his biddings. His mouth curved into a smirk when he saw the blonde working on a patient but he quickly changed expression when he met his eyes, shining of a bright blue, and heard his thundering voice warn him to move no further.  _ Fascinating _ , he thought before speaking and pointing at the staff popping from behind his back, assuring the healer that he had naught to worry about with him.

Hawke seemed like a funny type, Auburn assumed, paying attention to the words he chose to express himself with. He also had this smug look on his face, the blue eyes glistening lively as he spoke with a sneer, well visible through the messy beard that covered his cheeks and all around his lips. The young girl didn’t know what to think of him at first: he didn’t seem mischievous but he certainly had some guts for showing up like that and asking something from the healer out of the blue. He wanted some maps, Auburn gathered as she listened from afar, tending to her chores while pretending to look the other way.

At first, Anders was reluctant, testing the water to have a hunch of what the man in front of him was actually made of, but in the end he complied. A favor for a favor, he suggested: the new arrival would’ve met him that night at the Chantry to prove that his mage support was true, and Anders would’ve entrusted him with his Grey Warden maps. Simple as that. Hawke didn’t stagger at the proposal, but the man with the longsword next to him left out an annoyed sigh at the idea of “meddling with Templar’s affairs once again”. The bearded man left out a vigorous cackle, telling his brother that one more Templar encounter or one less wouldn’t have changed their lives. Anders grinned at that and his stance on Hawke softened as the latter waved at him while leaving the clinic with an aloof smile.

After that odd scene, Auburn reached for her friend, wondering if that Garrett guy was really one to put their trust on. The mage chuckled, not quite sure of his verdict either, and added that they just had to wait and see by that point.

When he went out that night, Auburn couldn’t sleep: she kept tossing around in her bed and looking at the door of the clinic, awaiting to see the mage come back with his friend by his side. She was curious to meet Karl; she had been since the first time she heard about him, even though she couldn’t grasp the deeper relationship between the two men for Anders seemed quite fond of keeping it for himself. But it mattered not: she understood enough of their bond to wish to get to know this person better and when the door opened up later that night she was ready to jump off her bed and go meet what she believed would become another permanent resident of the clinic. But when she rose from her sheets and looked over the dark room, she froze at the sight of the blond mage standing alone, closing the door behind him and resting his back against it, letting out a sigh before collapsing to the ground, his bloody hands covering his sobbing face. Auburn’s fervent expression swiftly lost its sparkle and turned grim as she reached for the man and sat next to him, hugging him in silence. She waited for him to speak, to narrate the terrible thing that happened, and she held him closer, without uttering a word, unable to find anything poignant to say to comfort him otherwise. Her simple presence and the mage’s temper resulted to be enough for granting him a quick enough recover as he wiped away his tears and bitterly smiled, consoling himself at the idea that at least his friend would’ve not been imprisoned by the Templars nor suffered the terrible fate of a Tranquil any longer.

The day after, Hawke and his small crew presented at the clinic to retrieve their end of the bargain but also offer some condolences before binding Anders to explain about Justice and his deal with him, having a broody elf call him an abomination when he finished telling his story. The mage didn’t seem to expect anything else from the man as he turned to look at Hawke’s reaction which was surprisingly accommodating as he suggested to Anders to partake in his expedition in the Deep Roads, for a former Grey Warden would’ve certainly been useful to confront Darkspawn. Despite his resolution of never setting foot below the surface ever again, Anders ended up accepting his offer, believing it would cement his relationship with the intriguing mage and also grant him more support for his cause, growing more and more urgent each time his thoughts lingered on Karl: the mages in the Circles were not safe; they needed help and they needed it now. Anders would have not allowed another one of them to fall into Tranquility or be murdered by the sword of a Templar. But if he wanted his resolve to succeed, he needed more support, he needed more awareness from everyone, mages or not.

It was by this point that he started working on a manifesto for everyone to read: it would have included all the most important points to discuss in favor of mage freedom by shattering to pieces what the Chantry had built, all of its lies and all of its distortions to fit its benefits. Anders gathered all the books he could find on the matter and started writing like a madman at his desk every time he had a breathing moment, with Auburn making sure he’d eat and had everything he needed, be it more ink and paper or simply a blanket on his shoulders when he fell asleep on the hard wood, the quill still in his hand, bended to the side.

With time and after combing through all the material he gathered, Anders had his first draft that he eagerly shared with Auburn who listened attentively to every word, trying to grasp things that she never heard about before about the Chantry, Andraste, the Golden City and the Ancient Magisters. She didn’t have the opportunity to raise questions for the man read so quickly and enthusiastically that she forgot the points she wanted to investigate upon, too caught up in the final resolution: freedom, granted to all human beings, for the powers given to mages had not to be seen as a curse from the Maker but as a gift to use in service of all men.  _ Yes _ , Auburn thought, that was exactly what her mentor had taught her with his actions: to do good, to help others, to soothe others’ pains and chase death away by the means that were given to us, be them magical or else. Auburn could stand for that; heck, everyone should’ve stood for that! Then why didn’t they? What was wrong with people and their will to lock up mages? Auburn couldn’t understand, she thought it made no sense that any living being had to be deprived of their freedom and she raised from the ground where she was sitting, a hand on her chest as she begged Anders to tell her how to help with the most solemn voice the mage had ever heard. He looked at her for a couple instants, his eyes sparkling of a profound joy, before assuring her that she could do so much, from smaller to bigger things, to help what soon became  _ their _ cause.

The first thing Anders required the girl to do was helping him copy down his manifesto, but in order to do so he first needed to teach her how to read and write. For how quick Auburn was in everything practical, reading and writing turned out to be a challenge as hard as she ever faced before and she soon gave up on it and limited to copy the letters scribbled by Anders the best she could, often overlooking the meaning of the words she couldn’t possibly understand. Overall, she didn’t enjoy reading: it was hard, took too much time and gave her strong headaches so she reduced it to a minimum, making use of it solely for her copying duty and to keep a list of supplies when needed.

She was rather good, instead, at the other part of her and Anders’ agenda: actively helping mages flee the Circles and then Kirkwall. From the underground, the two of them found a way to guide the apostates to their well-deserved freedom and Maker was Auburn good at that! She knew every corner of Kirkwall, where to hide and when to take action. She was good at lock-picking if it needed be and she was able to lurk in the shadows and find non-violent ways to overcome the Templars’ intervention. When this was not possible, Anders stepped in, always being the sweet-talker and leader of the stock, persuading the skeptical mages of the goodwill of his and his associate’s intentions. If there was need for a fight, he was always on the first line and prepared to use his healing abilities to aid those he had sworn to protect before sending them off and making sure that no one would come to their pursuit. Everything was daring, he and Auburn both knew that, but they always ascertained that the risk was worth the while and never put themselves in situations where they knew they couldn’t come up on top.

There was also Hawke helping out sometimes, albeit unaware of the full extent of Anders’ underground operations. He seemed well aware of the constraining condition of his fellow mages but was hesitant to go all out, trying not to get fully involved in the matters of the Circle and its mismanagement. Regardless, he had gained Anders’ sympathies more and more each day and, when it was time, he summoned the healer to join him in his Deep Roads expedition. Auburn was a bit anxious at the man’s departure but she complied when he promised that he would’ve been back, safe and sound, possibly in a few days.

On the contrary, weeks went by and Auburn was left alone, attending the patients at the best of her abilities and barely ever leaving the clinic, waiting for Anders’ return. She knew he’d come back; he had never broken a promise before. Not even for a moment did Auburn think she could lose forever the one that, in such short time, had become her mentor and she worked twice as hard to cover his absence, setting a goal for herself: to make him proud for when he’d come back.

And back he came, tired and upset about Bartrand’s betrayal that had delayed his homecoming for so long. As soon as she saw him, Auburn started interrogating him on everything that happened down below in the Deep Roads and carefully listened about the tales of Darkspawn and of the Taint that was bestowed upon Carver and of how he was given to the Grey Wardens, in hope that he would survive the plight. After speaking so, Anders sat at his table and looked around to see how well and good Auburn had taken care of the clinic while he was gone and he smiled at her, pulling her in for a hug, happy to finally be back home.

Meanwhile, the first year drew to a close and more events started to go by, as Anders and Auburn’s collaboration kept on going alongside the friendship of the mage and Hawke’s close circle. Thanks to the successful expedition, the Lothering apostate had been able to regain his noble title and make a name for himself in the city, providing some benefits to Anders’ situation too.

Anders spoke a lot about his adventures and about those friends the fellow mage tagged along with: there was Varric, a surface dwarf that Auburn had seen several times already at the clinic. The mage loved speaking to him for he seemed to care naught of his condition, in truth proving to be intrigued by it and asking all sorts of questions, being playful and charming in his own special way. Then there was Isabela; Auburn had seen her too: provocative and full of spirit, she sometimes came by asking for some remedy, spurring intensive sniggering from Anders that, despite complaining for her lack of interest in his cause, had grown attached to her and had the pleasure to call her a friend.

Then there were the others, which he seemed to like less and less each day: first was Merrill, a blood mage who seemed only to care for the past of her Dalish clan instead of looking forward, into the future, and take an interest in the plague of all living beings, elves or humans indistinctly, that were oppressed by unjust ruling. Then Anders talked about Aveline, the knight-captain of the city guard, a sketchy one who he believed was just waiting for an opportunity to turn him in to the Templars. Auburn didn’t like her one bit, despite noticing a decrease of patrols around the clinic since she had supposedly taken her place of command. Nonetheless, if Anders did not trust her, Auburn would’ve not lowered her guard either.

Now, the last two Anders spoke about were the worse of the lot: Fenris was the name of one of them, an ex-slave elf from Tevinter who hated mages and wanted to see them all locked up. Auburn felt disgusted by him just by hearing Anders speak: how could he, a former slave, support an institution that practically enslaved people indiscriminately, just because of how they were born? If one person, of all people, should’ve understood the plight of the mages, it had to be him. But no, apparently he was unfazed by the notion, too caught up in his own grieving and prone to vengeance for his former master, too selfish to see that it didn’t matter anymore, that he was free now and he had so much more than the people who were locked in the Gallows had ever had.

And in the end, Anders spoke of Sebastian: he had nothing but contempt for the man. He thought so highly of himself, being the rightful prince of Starkhaven but stuttering at the idea, his vows to the Chantry binding him to be a useless brother. Auburn was shocked by hearing his story: he could’ve done so much, as a prince, to help the mages, if he only wanted to; but he didn’t want to, Anders explained. He was conservative, obtuse and deaf to anyone’s suffering, only opening his mouth to preach about Andraste in the most irritating way possible, incapable of seeing through the lies of the Chantry, completely devoted to it and to the Divine. Auburn found that man very puzzling to her, a living contradiction in her eyes, but what most hurt her was how upset he made Anders when he talked about him. Despite being just as arrogant, Fenris didn’t enrage Anders like Sebastian did: his honeyed way of speaking, the rosy words he conveyed, oh so dreamy and full of the Maker’s light, made Anders itch and wish to show Sebastian how horrific real life was. It was like he lived bubbled up in his own world, far from all the pain and sorrow that the human kind was forced to face every single day. He wished he could put him into his shoes, even just for one day, and show him, yes, prove him how lucky he was and how stupid it was not to take advantage of his position.

At least there was Hawke, making everything bearable for the healer. Hawke was this particular case of a free apostate in a relevant position in society, a taste of the possible future all mages could’ve aspired to when the world would’ve been rid of the preconceptions of the Chantry. Anders admired him greatly and was naturally drawn to him. But it wasn’t just their kindred situation that captivated the healer so: Hawke had a unique and charismatic personality, one entrancing gaze and an even more seducing smile. When they were together, Anders felt safe, protected, something he had never really experienced before. No matter how much stronger he had become since his joining with Justice, there was this weary sensation of restlessness that shook him, making him fear the great power he had acquired, losing control over it and hurting others unwillingly. But with Hawke around he felt different, calmer and more level-headed. He had this certainty that, no matter what would’ve happened, Hawke would’ve been able to stop him from doing anything inconsiderate and he ended up completely abandoning himself to this thought, lulling in the assuagement that the other mage’s presence gave him.

It didn’t take long for the healer to understand just what were his true feelings for the man, so vehement that they hurt into his chest, making it feel like it would burst every time his mind lingered on those forbidden caprices. He couldn’t abide, the healer knew that: too much pain, too many complications would’ve bestowed upon the man he was so deeply fond of. So when he visited him again, playful as always, Anders begged him to step aside. Auburn assisted to the whole scene: she saw the healer put his heart out and confess his feelings, asking for nothing in return. On the contrary, he pushed Hawke away, asking him to understand, to see that being together would’ve just caused both of them strife: he was a Grey Warden and, he sadly added, an abomination. Hawke didn’t deserve him.

The mage listened to him carefully, not uttering a single word, until the healer was done talking. With a severe look, he stretched his lips before nodding with his head and take a deep breath, spelling a “I understand.” He seemed aghast but determined to respect the blonde’s decision. Anders’ brown eyes thanked him but Auburn could see that he was heartbroken: how could Hawke let him go like that? Anders was an amazing human being, one that she would’ve loved to spend the rest of her life with. It was after phrasing this thought that now three-years-older Auburn started to question her feelings for her mentor: what was their relationship? It was more than the one a person might have with a simple teacher, that was undoubted, but then how could it be labeled?

In the following days, Auburn started convincing herself that what she felt for the man was more than mild affection; she started to believe she was in love. It was such an outlandish idea at first but, the more she thought about it, the realer it seemed, she just hadn’t noticed before. Every time they spoke, she felt a knot forming inside her throat: had it always been there? When he called for her name, her hands shook madly; how odd, she had always been so calm before, even in the most dreadful situations. Many times she found herself at a loss for words or wandering, with a blank expression, on the mage’s features, unable to remember if he had always been as attractive as she thought he was right then.

Everything felt odd and off for quite some time until, tired of questioning her stance, Auburn decided to confess: she was almost an adult now and she had to take responsibility and fathom what she really expected from this relationship. So she took Anders aside one day and sat with him, inquiring about his sentiments for Hawke now that about a month had gone by after he had nipped in the bud their eventual love affair. Anders sighed at first, a sad smile curving his lips as he professed that it was for the best of their interests and that sometimes romance just complicated matters further.

“Sometimes, it’s better to have a dear, little friend as your life partner rather than a man.” He chuckled, ruffling the girl’s hair in a brotherly fashion.

“Hey!” She tittered back, pretending to attack him and trapping him in her embrace. It was by hearing those laughs that Auburn finally had her major revelation: she wasn’t in love with the man; or better, she was, but not in the way she had imagined to be in the last few weeks. She had tried so hard to convince herself that she could’ve filled the hole left by Hawke in Anders’ heart that she didn’t realize that there was no way she could’ve ever managed to do so. She was simply something else for the mage, something just as deep but that wouldn’t have been swept away so easily: his whole family.

Auburn tenderly smiled as she finally reckoned where she stood and gave a place to the pieces of her heart. She squeezed Anders one more time before going back to sit to the ground, looking at him in adoration.

“I love you, you know that?” The mage smiled and Auburn timidly blushed. “I don’t know what would I do if I didn’t have you.” The girl scratched her wrist at those words before wrapping her arms around his, laying her head on his shoulder.

“Me too.” She only had the strength to mutter, her feeble voice barely audible against the feathered shrug. Anders’ lips curved more as he laid his head on the girl’s, enjoying the moment of quietness and restoration the two conceded to themselves.

The next three years went by in an erratic twist of events: the Qunari war, albeit brief, shook Kirkwall tremendously and the monopoly that Meredith gained from Viscount Dumar’s death threatened the mages and the overall balance of the city further. Anders became anxious, almost restless as he tried to find a way to put a stop to the Knight-Commander’s madness. It came to a point where he would go missing for days, coming back with a discouraged expression and rambling on how impossible the situation had become. Something needed to be done, he kept muttering to himself while Auburn focused on attending their patients and rarely went out to help some apostates on the run for most of them seemed to have turned to blood magic and it was now too dangerous for her to partake in Anders’ expeditions.

The healer became more and more distant each day, so tense as Auburn had never seen him before. She preferred not to bother him; she believed he would’ve come to her if needed be and she limited herself to keep his basic needs satisfied, giving him comfort when he lowered his guard, allowing her to show him her benevolent compassion and remind him of all the good deeds they had accomplished during the years.

It wasn’t enough: a final solution had to be found and Anders knew it would’ve not been pleasant. Finding the resolve to do what had to be done wasn’t easy: it meant sacrificing so much but what other choice did he have?

In due time, Anders abandoned to his fate: if nothing would’ve changed, he would have brought the change to Kirkwall… no, to all of Thedas. 


End file.
